


Tayli'bac?

by Remarque



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Paz meets Boba, don't ask about where this is in the time line, i don't even know what to tag this crap, i have no clue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remarque/pseuds/Remarque
Summary: Paz Vizla tries to find another covert, and meets a new friend of Djarin's along the way.
Relationships: None
Comments: 10
Kudos: 96





	Tayli'bac?

Paz Vizsla did not think he would see Din Djarin again. 

Paz hadn’t had a good feeling he would see another Mandalorian again for a very long time, but it seems that they always manage to find their way back to one another eventually. 

In the months that followed the destruction of their covert, Paz had managed to hire himself out as protection for different ships to try and to cover as much distance (for free) as possible to track down any other Mandalorians he could find. He didn’t like being on his own, it wasn’t how it was supposed to be. So even though many times the ship’s crew were too afraid to even speak to him (which he often found mildly entertaining), he found even a small amount of peace being around other people and falling into his protector role. 

It took months of hopping from sector to sector for him to catch a whisper of a fellow Mando in a nearby system. He found a crew to join that took him to the newest dust bowl of a planet. He was glad that it wasn’t someplace cold. He hated it having lived on volcanic Nevarro for so long - he was conditioned for the temperate to warm climate and anyway the cold was made worse by the armor. He hated the marks the frost made, though being continually sandblasted wasn’t entirely fun either. 

When he stepped off the transport, the hangar of workers stoped to stare. He almost stopped himself to relish in it but he kept moving - motivated over anything to find his own people to settle down with. If they were anything like his tribe on Nevarro, they wouldn’t exactly be walking around with adverts for new conscripts. It was up to him to sniff them out. 

He walked out of the hangar after collecting his pay for the safe exchange of whatever goods he was helping protect. He stopped caring once he heard of this lead and just wanted to get here as quickly as possible. Before he tried to be picky in what he would be shuffled onto a ship with. No slavers. No imps or ex imps or anything related to imps. For as much crap as he used to give Djarin for being a bounty hunter, he quickly found them to be his favorite. Simple gigs, straight forward people, occasionally he would get to fight and that made him happier than the pay he received and most of them gave him the respect he deserved. 

Typically there was some indicator left in the open to act as a calling card for his fellows who happened to wander into town seeking refuge. It’s what they did on Nevarro anyway. A cleverly placed fleck of graffiti or mark that only someone of the creed would know. He walked up the main street, eyes beneath his helmet searching almost desperately down every side alley. He didn’t have to watch out for people in front of him, they parted naturally on their own accord for the blue clad Mandalorian who stood a full head or two above even the most well built human. He knew he was drawing attention, including the unwanted kind, being so blatantly out in the open and if he was more cautious and caring he would have waited until night to traverse this route. But he was tired of hiding, tired of being on his own, and tired of being with people that didn’t understand him. He nearly growled out in frustration as he reached the end of the road, until his HUD picked up a subtle mark on the end of a building next to an alley cut into the sandstone cliff. A crude and almost indistinguishable mythosaur, cut into the stone near the street. Dank Farrik, this was it! Most of the city crowd was behind him so it wasn’t odd for him to duck into the alley and follow it back, twisting and turning until it eventually led to a dead end. Or so he thought, before he caught the subtle motion of a cloth, the same color as the sandstone, flip in a breeze coming from within. He smiled to himself as he pulled it aside and walked in. The tunnel was short and ended in a locked door.   
Not knowing what else to do, he knocked.   
There was no answer. 

“Kriffing…” He pounded his fist on the door angrily, tired, dirty and just wanting to have a place to lay his head for the night without his helmet and not worry about people trying to slit his throat for his Beskar. 

The urgency must have caught someone attention as he noticed a small slit in the doorway scrape open and a familiar T shaped visor peer through.   
Like music to his ears, the mask on the other side asked him in Mando’a,  
“ _Who are you and why are you here_?”

“ _My name is Paz Viszla…_ ” He let that sink in with the fellow on the receiving end, knowing his family name held weight for most of the tribes. “ _I’m from the covert on Nevarro. It’s been._.” He searched for the right words. “ _Infiltrated… and I’m seeking refuge_.” 

The Mandalorian on the other side of the door stepped back and Paz heard him say something to a fellow, probably someone as heavily armed as he wished he was. The view slot scraped closed and and the door swings open to let him in. He nearly has to duck but the inside of the tunnel offers more space for him to stand. As he walks in and his display adjusts for the lower light, he spots two more guards with the one that he spoke with taking him in, helmets tilted upward to get in his full scope. 

“Welcome, Vizsla. We have some others from Nevarro that have made it here as well…” The man greeted him by offering his arm, which Paz grasps at the elbow in a familiar and friendly gesture that only comes from being with ones own people. 

“I’m glad to hear this. We lost many when the Imperial filth raided our compound… Tell me have you seen an Arm-“

“Armorer?” The man finishes for him and he picks up a hint of a smile in his voice. “Yes. She’s here. Let me take you to her.” 

For the first time he actually breaths a sigh of relief. He was beyond happy the Armorer was alive, not only for her leadership but for the company of shared experience. She might be able to tell him more of what happened after his found family scattered, those who had made it anyway. 

This covert was quite a bit different than his own and he mentally prepared himself for the drastic change as they walked through the halls. Where the sewers had been enclosed, but spacious with vents and windows and light filtering in, he never truly felt claustrophobic there (he wouldn’t admit to it even if he did) But here everything seemed half the size, and to him that made a big difference. Hallways narrower, not great for the gathering that used to happen in his home. Rooms were splintered off into hallways, not like the large communal spaces. Though surprisingly, this was an established compound, not at all a cave carved into stone as he would have though. Natural light was lacking in some places, but he wasn’t going to start complaining moments after walking in the door. He’d adapt. This was going to be his home. 

His guide pointed out rooms and spaces to the left and right so he could acclimate himself. Kitchens, dining, sparring arena, private rooms, armories (he liked that there was more than one), rooms for foundlings and children. They were certainly well established here. 

It was the rhythmic pounding of Beskar that truly brought his heart down to the planet’s surface once again. The familiar cadence with which his Armorer labored, a sound he had heard for years, never felt so soothing. The doorman showed him to the entrance and waited outside so he could have a private word with the woman who seemed to have made herself quite at home at their forge. 

“Paz Vizsla” The armorer said, finishing a piece she had been pounding by dunking it and causing steam to blur her image. 

“I am please you’ve managed to find yourself here.” She said with her usual elegance and Paz, despite his age and size, once again felt like a boy in front of a teacher, pleased that he had won her favor. 

“It was no easy task. I had lost hope of seeing anyone from our tribe again.” 

“There were few who made it here with some foundlings, but beyond them I do not hope for more. They will be soothed by your presence. You do plan to stay, yes?” 

“Yes.” He nods as sure as if there were no other option even available to him. “This is the Way” 

“This is the Way” She hums back to him, walking forward and assessing any damage done to his armor. Somehow he feels smaller than her under her commanding gaze, but he does not flinch. 

“You seem to be little worse for wear. A good thing. Supplies here are limited, as are funds.” 

“Do they not have someone to go out?” He nods towards the door, thinking of bounties hunted and labor exchanged to provide for the tribe. 

“You may have taken Djarin for granted, Vizsla. He was better than most at what he did and we benefited from it” 

He merely huffs in a response. He knew his Vod was good, he bloody well better be after all of the training and hassle Paz made sure to put him through growing up. Whatever muddied feelings he had for him and his imperial escapades, what terror reigned down on the covert because of his actions, he had to put them aside. Djarin was following the creed, caring for a foundling taken from their enemy. He couldn’t judge him for that- it was honorable. 

“Perhaps you’ll get the chance to thank him.” She chides his response. 

“He’s alive?” 

“Have a look for yourself.” She nods as she returns to her place at the forge, gathering some pieces of armor. 

He turns around to see the familiar helmet of Din Djarin, the little green… thing that he had been protecting when they last saw each other and… another man with a few piece of armor but missing some others, and most importantly in Paz’s mind, his helmet. 

He turns back to look at the Armorer walking down from the forge with the man’s missing pieces. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Paz. 

Din speaks up first. “ _Su cuy’gar,_ Vizsla. I’m glad you…. I’m glad we’re meeting again.” 

Paz, drawn out of his shocked trance from Din’s tag along, looks back at him and hesitates for a moment. 

“ _Su cuy’gar._. Djarin.. you son of a..” Din must have anticipated the exchange as he thrusts the green child into his comrades arms before raising his own to defend from Paz’s grab at his neck, hauling him closer to be able to wail on him. Din is a slippery fish however and he manages to lift himself up using Paz’s arm as leverage as he wraps his legs around Paz’s neck, desperately trying to keep his own helmet on as he twists trying to bring the larger man down to the ground. 

The Armorer steps back and watches without flinching or speaking as the two man wrestle each other onto the sandy floor. 

The guest, however, is not as amused or used to the interaction between the two men. He thrusts the baby at the armorer, who is very surprised by this act, and before Paz has a chance to do any more damage to Din, the bald man has Paz in a position with a vibroblade pressed to a cloth covered part of he neck he knew was a venerable spot. 

“Make another move on him and you’ll be eating through a tube… _Tayli’bac_?” 

Paz does not move except to look down at Din speaking once again in Mando’a. “ _Who is this di’kut wearing armor and no helmet? Dar’manda_? ” 

Din reaches an arm up to wave off the bald man who, not that Paz would admit it, has the advantage over him in this moment. He hesitates for more than a few breaths before releasing Paz and stepping back, not trusting the brute but trusting Din’s judgement. 

“ _That’s not for me to say…_ ” He says to Paz more or less privately. “He’s helping me. His father was a foundling. _Now get off of me before I break your kneecaps._ ” Din tuts in an almost playful tone that has the helmet-less man confused. 

Paz lets go of Din, getting to his own feet before helping his vod off the ground. 

“Paz Vizsla, Boba Fett” Din gestures between them, walking over to take the child off the armor’s hands. 

Paz looks at the man standing before him. He was a good size, bulky and hardened. He clearly knew how to fight. He felt unnerved looking into his naked eyes, but he appreciated the man’s loyalty to Din more. 

“Fett. That names sounds familiar” 

“Face might be too” Boba deadpanned, holding his gaze through the visor. 

“You’ve got a lot of guts to be in a covert without a helmet. Are you even a Mandalorian?” 

Boba did not falter under the blank harsh stare of the larger man. “I’m just a simple man, honoring my father before me.” 

“What would you know of our Honor?” He challenged. He could almost feel the armorer sigh but Din speaks for him. 

“He knows of helping me rescue the child and fighting the Imperials. He honored his word keeping us safe after the return of his armor.” 

Paz tilts his head as Boba slips his newly repaired helmet back on. 

“… I suppose if you’ve risked your own hide to save little Djarin here..” A sound of disgust wafts out from Din’s vocoder “you’re alright for now…” 

“Glad you approve after I almost poked a hole in your throat.” 

Paz stares for a moment before a chuckle bubbles up from his chest and he pats Boba’s yellow Pauldron looking at Din. 

“I like this weird one. Keep him around” 

**Author's Note:**

> Look I don't even know what this is - a prompt about Paz meeting Boba and having a tense moment before declaring him weird but cool that I made up myself and then feel compelled to write. It ended up being way longer than I planned and less about Boba and more about Paz (but tbqh I need more Paz in this series).  
> Anyway, enjoy. Leave a nice note if you liked it.
> 
> Mando'a Translation: Tayli'bac - Got it/Understand? (threatening undertones) , Di'kut - idiot, Su cuy'gar - typical greeting (hello / So you're still alive?)


End file.
